Sucks to be him
by SomecallmeMichelle
Summary: Au - Max Tate is a delightful cheerful young boy who always ends up on top of his roomate Kai hiwatari, until one day Kai has had enough


His eyes glimmered, the bright blue orbs reflecting themselves in the darker, more visceral color of Kai's eyes. Max Tate smiled, a good natured smile that wasn't unlike his personality. He moved his arms, this was sort of an awkward position to be in, and he could feel his cheeks redden as he felt the proximity to his room mate.

The other boy...well, man, he was older than Max by at least a couple years, wasn't so eager to laugh the situation away, unlike the smiley boy that was currently atop of him. - So close that he could feel his knees pressing against him. - Kai wasn't one for contact, unless it involved a sexy woman after a couple of shots and the moaning of his (or God's) name. And Max was definitively not a woman.

He grunted. - A grunt that exposed the inner annoyance he was feeling. - And he pushed the other boy from the top of him. It was an easy task - not only was Max lighter, so light he could pass for a girl. - But Kai was also strong. The other boy rolled over and fell into the floor, not a conscious decision, more so propelled by Kai's rough shoving than any idea of his, him that was quite enjoying the happy accident.

Max's small frame and blonde hair, as white as the sunny rays of a summer day, that permeated all over America, from whence he was from originally, were shaken and his hair became spiked, jagged, like he was some kind of anime character in an action show.

"We've got to stop meeting up like this." - Max said, and his voice was what some would imagine an angel or succubus voice to sound like, threaded with layer upon layer of sweetness, like it was laying it thick for a trap. It was a tone that made Kai shake his head, the other boy may sound and look sweet. But he was definitively not to be trusted. Kai had learned better than to trust appearances.

The joke fell so in unappreciative ears, Kai had detected the joke in the joviality of the tone, and also on the words, that had been chosen and thrown to the wind, and carried to his ears, he just didn't find them funny. A fact he clearly displayed in his reaction.

He moved his head and dismissed it with a plain statement, a statement that he had repeated plenty of times already, but which didn't seem to get itself stuck in the younger boy's mind.

"It's not funny."

And in Kai's opinion it wasn't, people always said he had no sense of humour, maybe it was the russian in him, russians are widely known not to laugh at much, or perhaps it was his past...a past he'd rather forget, but jokes simply weren't funny. Nor was the intimate contact the other boy had seemingly accidentally caused. A contact that was becoming increasingly common, and the plausibility of it being an accident decreasing with every slight case of contact that happened upon them.

Max disagreed with the statement of Kai Hiwatari, the russian cold man. He found it pretty funny,even if his apparent clumsiness was getting harder and harder to believe in. If there ever was a doubt, it was becoming more common, but what could or would Max say? He was clumsy alright, so clumsy he happened to fall on the cold russian 32 times a day.

Max Tate, the american boy to Kai's russian status, stood. He was spread out on the floor, his back against the wooden floor. It felt cold against the shirt he was wearing, and he quite liked the feeling. It was summer, and he was in a region of the globe that could generally be classified as "Pretty hot" or even "Somewhat hot", either way it was hot enough for the heat - while bearable - to be noticeable. It was worse for Kai Hiwatari which had been raised in the rough conditions of the Russian Winter. Or so Max believed, Kai Hiwatari could be many things, dashingly attractive even, some would say, but open about his past was not one of them. Max didn't press for detail, he respected the older man's right for privacy. He couldn't deny however that curiosity had taken over him.

He remembered the first time the russian man had come to the garage, he had checked it out and deemed it satisfactory to his work. When asked about his work the russian had shown him his set of tools.

"What are you doing?" - The american, Max, had asked, he saw the glass bottle and the tiny amounts of wood, and he had no idea of what he would be constructing.

"Glass bottle boat" - The russian hadn't still americanized his accent, it sounded rough, like he was constantly on the drink, and it made him hard to understand. He gestured towards the set of tools and the materials he had there.

Max, the american, smiled, a gentle smile, he reckoned the russian must have felt pretty lonely. He asked - partly due to curiosity, partly to being hospitable, to the man with which he'd share not only his room but also his life.

"I've always wondered how they make those. Do they build the bottle around the boat?"

Things had been different then, this had been before Max had been clumsy to fall on him dozens of time, and his patient was more at the time, so he answered, explaining the delicate process of boat building inside a glass bottle.

Max had to admit though, the russian had shut himself from him since then

Just what was the pale, almost albino man hiding? His dark red window's to the soul weren't very eager to share, and he couldn't decipher the looks that he was getting from the Russian man in a regular basis. Well that wasn't true, he could detect one feeling, the unmistakable feeling of annoyance, but Max Tate, the american, choose to ignore that feeling the other got from him, and which he knew he caused the other.

Kai's expressions were rough, his greyish hair, with tones of blue, was spiky yes, but in a contained hair do, everything about the man screamed efficiency. Max would be worried about the serious expression on the other's face, except the other man always carried that expression, like it was a cross he had to bear. Like he was a martyr of sorts.

The Russian stood up. Kai Hiwatari was about to resume the task he was about to do before being interrupted by...and he snickered, the other boy's "Clumsiness", he had a feeling that it wasn't clumsiness at all, how many times could the same exact thing happened? The blonde with the enchanted voice wasn't exactly being subtle, now was he?

"You know" - The pale, greyish haired man had once said, his accent midway through americanization. - "You don't need to do this"

Max had faked innocence, he could see that his attempts at making the other feel welcome weren't very welcomed, but he was trying. His very best in fact.

Kai had looked at the other's smile and sighed.

It was just his luck, he had found himself a room mate, they had agreed to a rent, they shared the house...he just didn't expect the young boy to fall for him. It had happened back in his homeland with plenty of woman, with stronger or more delicate features, wider hips, tighter or looser where it counted, but with another man?

The young boy was naive if he didn't think the other man noticed. The russian sighed in exasperation, he was back to work on his manual labor project, and he hoped that the american didn't interrupt him.

Max's eyes were wide as they inquired about the strong russian man in front of him, he always liked to examine the workings of the man. It was how he did his living after all, he had learned of a craft, presumably in his mysterious better not investigated past, and he, the russian who took such brutish manners as a given, was incredibly delicate.

It was a skill, a craft, a way of doing things, the way the older man did glass boat tops, not simple knicknacks. Max wondered how the other man, the russian with the cold eyes, and the fiery determination, could sell such mundane attractions when the internet was a thing. But the man was old fashioned, he didn't seem interested in the wonders of the western modern tech.

The man couldn't be older than 23 or 24, his face, while rough around the edges and sharp in features, shared some kind of beauty with that of a marble statue, cold, and hard, but delicately detailed, and featured. He contrasted greatly with the american's own warm smile, white as ivory, and which reflected in the vision of the lucky man or woman who happened to glance at it, and his seeing tools, which were like a blue liquid see, and which had gotten comments from the ladies in Max's life that they were easy to get lost into. Nobody got that with the russian's own eyes, if you were to have the misfortune of staring at them you'd get the intense sensation of being watched and judged, your every act being examined, like if by some sort of higher creature.

Kai Hiwatari was a creature of simple tastes though, he was no angel, and certainly no good person. He wasn't fancy, and neither did he indulge in luxuries.

Max observed, enthralled, his eyes scouring along the muscled arms, that yearn to escape the bonds of the russian's clothing, and the well shaped back, or so Max assumed, the russian wore a shirt

He couldn't hold the question that bounced around his mouth, eager to escape his lips. He had to question the russian.

"Do you remember?"

The russian's face flashed with irritation as his precious and dutifully task was interrupted by the question of the young boy.

"What?" - His accent lay thick, it always accentuated itself when he was more irritable.

"When you rented the house?"

Kai sighed, a sigh of exasperation and irritation how could he forget?

He nodded, this was the perfect time for a jab at the young one's heart and mind. He had never claimed to be a good person, so he didn't feel an insane amount of guilt over this. It was true that he was annoyed however, and he felt like he should put the other boy in a position of guilt himself, for asking the question.

"How could I not? It all seemed like a good deal, roomy house, a garage to work on my projects…" - Max nodded, this was all good information, this seemed to be a side of the russian he wasn't very eager to reveal to the world. - "And then it turns out the co-renter is a…" - Kai seemed to measure up his words, as if he hesitated, he wouldn't lower himself to slurs, they just weren't in him. - "homosexual with an agenda of trying to copulate with me. Or at least pretend to fall on top of me to feel me up."

Max was mortified, his face frozen in shock mouth opened in a "O" shape, eyes staring blankly at a wall, cheeks reddened by the shock and shame.

"You…"

The russian nodded, he was taking great satisfaction in the fact that he had managed to get a rise out of the american., The blonde was still stammering and it had already been some minutes. It was a good trick of his.

"Yes...how could I not?" - He answered the unasked question, of course he knew, he was some gullible fool, he had been one to fend for himself, and that had required his mind to stay sharp, in fact...but he ushered away the thoughts of his dark and seedy past to a drawer of restrained and contained memories.

Max finally felt himself get a grip on himself, he wasn't an easy boy to annoy, he considered himself very patient, very caring, very giving, but he was annoyed now, the thought that he had caused this onto himself didn't cross his mind. The human mind rarely blames itself for its predicament. No, to him it was all Kai's fault, he was playing with his feelings, by not revealing that he knew all along, and putting an end to it.

The russian saw the change in the boy's demeanor, the shock turning into rage, but he wasn't intimidated, he put on his best war face, a face that would terrify little kids and grown men alike, he wasn't going to be pressured.

Max almost took a step back, but rage is a powerful inhibitor of fear, and other natural reactions, so he just approached. Their faces were centimeters apart, the taller russian looking down on the american.

He pronounced only one word, the word that made the Russian shimmer. A feat that up to that moment Max thought it would be impossible, but anger gave him a way with words.

The word got Kai to step back. It wasn't guilt tripping him, for in his opinion his russian blood has nothing to be ashamed or guilty of, it hadn't been aggressive, it had been only one word. A curse word in fact.

That, coupled with the hurt in the other's eyes made him understand the other's point, to not be loved by the one which you which and crave attention from is a terrible thing.

And he just couldn't help it, he didn't feel that way about the other boy. He liked women, not men.

It was awful for the singular human with which he shared the house with, but it was the truth, and though he was a man of hardened ways, he was still compassionate about the other's feelings.

The whole thing could be described in a sentence. "Sucks to be him" - He thought.

 **the end**


End file.
